


Target

by Red_Tigress



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Action, Canon-Typical Violence, Drama, Gen, Language, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-13
Updated: 2012-05-30
Packaged: 2017-11-05 07:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/403985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_Tigress/pseuds/Red_Tigress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye and Bullseye have a history that Clint hadn't thought about in years. But now that the Avengers are public, Bullseye has come out of hiding and wants to make sure Clint knows it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I had another fic where Bullseye showed up, but that's not connected to this. So for consistency purposes, the Avengers haven't met Bullseye before. Also, yes, I know he is a Daredevil villain. 
> 
> Thanks very much to the folks at the Beta Branch for the once-over, and Zoe Maria for the prompt. I tried to research some of the more military aspects in this, so sorry if I'm really off. I hope you enjoy.

_12 Years Ago_

_Iraq_

He watched as the new infantry rolled into base. There weren’t a lot of places to sit up high around here, but occasionally he sat on the top of an unused tank or Humvee, just to get that extra vantage point he always craved.

He knew who was in that group, was told who would be coming. He’d been the current best sniper on base for a few months now, but when word hit that Poindexter was coming in, buzz had started about a competition.

Clint didn’t pay any attention to it, of course. This happened every few weeks, and he was so good he always won. All the same, people were itching to be entertained, and a sniper-off was one way to do it. Especially when Clint made shots at impossible distances on moving targets in high wind or over his shoulder.

 He had never been good in school, and foster care hadn’t helped at all what with him being moved all the time. But he knew he could calculate trajectories, velocity, speed, and distance without really thinking about it. It made him valuable, and he held onto that.

And because of that, he found himself with his M82 lying on top of a ridge nearby the base two days later with Poindexter at his side and almost his entire infantry behind him.

“I hear you’re pretty good,” Poindexter said conversationally.

Clint shrugged. “I manage.”

“You’d probably have to do a lot more than ‘manage’ to get these guys all in a tizzy.”

Barton shrugged again. “You wanna do this or not?”

Poindexter smiled. “No scopes.”

“No scopes,” Clint agreed. He exhaled deeply, focusing on the target they had agreed beforehand.  A blue paint spatter on a yellow wall of an abandoned building, no bigger than two inches wide, and a quarter mile away. The wind was beginning to pick up, and with it, the excited murmurs of his fellow soldiers behind him. Clint mentally measured the distance, the wind speed, and aimed. He jolted slightly from the kickback of the rifle, but a moment later a small cloud of dust appeared from his target, and there were a few cheers behind him. He looked through the scope. He hadn’t exactly hit the blue paint chip, coming about half an inch to the left of it. He inwardly cursed. The wind had changed in the moment he shot it.

He stood up, still confident he had won, as Poindexter lay down to take his place, peering through the scope.

“Ooh, nice one!” He congratulated. He smiled up at Clint, taking his face away from the scope. Clint nodded back at him, and he closed one eye and stuck his tongue out partially as he lined up his own shot.

The rapport from the rifle sounded, and just when Clint was about to take a step forward, Poindexter reloaded and fired again. And again.

The landscape echoed around them, made louder by the silence of the men behind them.

He fired all the cartridges he had, before grinning savagely. He stood up, holding the gun up for Barton to take. “Take a look,” he said jovially.

He had made the shot in the middle of the paint speck, but also made a perfect circle around it.

_Present Day_

Clint had sort of gotten used to the idea of a “monster of the week” after a few months of him and Natasha being “officially” on the Avengers team. Since the Avengers became public, it seemed like everyone with a super power and a grudge had come out of the woodwork just to start trouble.

The first few times had been really strange. Since he had been working at SHIELD, he had gotten used to briefings, planning, advanced strategy. The Avengers was all response, response, response. He still found it jarring to be woken up by a computerized British accent informing him some guy was threatening to publically blow up Carnegie Hall, or some lady was trying to take over the subway with an army of rats (that one he still pretended hadn’t happened).

But he wouldn’t deny he loved the thrill of it.

He let go of the bow string, his arrow impaling some guy on a roof across the street who had been about to throw a grenade on Captain America and Thor fighting below. Clint saw the guy fall backwards, and the explosion knocked a few bricks off the roof.

It was some sort of terrorist group. Clint didn’t really pay attention anymore. But they all seemed to be normal people, but with some advanced combat techniques and a lot of explosives. Clint heard the sound of Iron Man’s repulsors to his left, and looked at the next building over just in time to see a guy in a half-mechanized suit get blasted apart. “Okay, anyone else…kinda bored?” Stark said.

“You could always play with Banner,” Clint suggested.

On cue, The Hulk burst from the windows of an office building below and to the left of him, landing in the middle of the street alongside Steve and Thor. He grabbed a guy and swung him into another building, leaping up and destroying more windows to follow as he disappeared from Clint’s sight.

“Yeah, no, pass.”

“If you are _seriously_ complaining about having nothing to do, I will get Jarvis to remotely shut off your suit and then you can come down here with us,” Natasha growled. Clint saw a guy sneaking up on her from behind a car, and his arrow buried itself in the man’s back.

“Jarvis wouldn’t do that,” Tony said, his tone seething with fake disbelief.

“I don’t know about that, he likes me.”

“She does have hacking skills, you know.” Clint said, aiming another arrow and taking down another mean-looking bulky guy as Natasha dealt with her own.

“Like _she_ could hack _us._ I bet she hacked you last night.”

“TONY. Focus up, please!” Steve’s annoyed voice sounded over the comms.

Clint chuckled. “You know you’re going to die for that comment, right? And it’s not even gonna be by my hand.”

“I could care less what he says,” Natasha grunted, and Clint saw her leap onto her opponent’s neck, shocking him with her Widow’s Sting. He fell to the ground bonelessly, and she hopped off. “If I only had robots for nighttime companionship, I’d be pretty sour too.”

“Hey! I am in a stable-ish relationship. WITH A WOMAN. You-”

“TONY. SHUT UP. Clint and Nat, stop goading him,” Steve’s voice came over the comms again.

“But it’s so _easy_ ,” Clint muttered.

“Easy like-”

Tony’s voice abruptly cut off with a _wham_ on his end, and Clint’s head whipped around to the rooftop he had last seen the Iron Man. He was still hovering in the air over a rooftop.

“What-”

Tony was propelled forward another foot, before he began to be peppered by high caliber gun shots, one right after the other, finally falling forward onto the rooftop.

Clint whipped his bow in the direction he thought the shots were coming from, eyes quickly scanning the reflective windows for a sign of movement. Seeing nothing, his eyes traveled to the rooftops opposite, but he still didn’t see anything.

“Shit,” the mumbled explicative had Clint running across his own rooftop, leaping onto the next one and rolling across the hot concrete. Iron Man was getting to his feet. “You see what hit me? Did it damage the paint?”

Clint moved around to look at the back of Tony’s armor. His eyes widened at the huge bullets lodged in the back, but more startling still was the pattern they were in.

“What is it?” Steve asked worriedly from the street.

“A…bullseye.”

_12 Years Ago_

_Iraq_

He was on the ridge again, this time with his bow, when Poindexter came up. The other man had been on the base a few days now, but they hadn’t really talked since the competition.

The other sniper scoffed. “What’s that nonsense?”

Clint shrugged. “I like it. It takes more coordination than a gun. Helps relieve stress.”

“They don’t let you use that on missions, right?”

Clint gave a smirk. “No. Not saying I don’t occasionally.”

“Well, I guess I can’t really hold it against you. I’ve killed with a lot weirder stuff.”

Clint, unfazed, drew the string back to his jaw. “Like what?” he asked before letting go. The arrow sailed into a distant wooden pole with a _thunk._ Most of his arrows got ruined in the wood, but he just wanted to keep up with the practice.

Poindexter grinned savagely, un-shouldering his rifle and starting to assemble it. “Guy was gonna shoot me in a barfight one time. The South, so that sort of thing was fine. I sent a bottle opener through his eyeball before he could even aim.”

Clint winced, drawing another arrow from his quiver.

The other man continued. “In high school, I did flick a pencil into a kid’s eye because he was threatening me and my brother. Not hard enough to kill. Just enough for an expulsion.”

_Shit_ , _didn’t they do psych evals anymore?_

“Get expelled a lot for that kind of stuff?” Clint asked drawing the string back.

“Occasionally. But my brother and I were in foster care after he set fire to our house.” Poindexter fired at the same time Clint released. “So it didn’t really matter. We were always moving schools anyway.”

“You were a foster kid too, huh?” Clint’s brother hadn’t set fire to their house but…it had still been bad.

“Yeah. Enlisted when I was 16.”

“17.”

“Well, Barton, I guess we have more in common than I thought.”

_Present Day_

As soon as the rest of the goons were taken care of, and Bruce de-Hulked, SHIELD swept in and did their cleanup, and the Avengers headed back to the tower.

Tony inspected the back of his armor with Clint and Steve looking over his shoulder in the lab. He groaned as he picked at a bullet, still lodged in the armor.

“It’s amazing those didn’t go through the armor,” Steve said, looking closer.

“I’m not an _amateur_ ,” Tony shot back. “Still. These are gonna take forever to get out. And repair. This is like…anti-aircraft stuff.” He grunted as the bullet he was trying to dig out slipped and he pitched forward a few inches.

“Technically, you’re an aircraft,” Steve said.

“ _Technically_ , I am an advanced prosthesis. For, you know, legal reasons.”

“Still. Whatever it was, it was an amazingly good shot,” Steve said quietly, inspecting the pattern.

“It was a man,” Clint said. “I know him.”

Both Tony and Steve turned to look at him incredulously. “You _know_ him?”

“Well…knew. In the army.  He started going by Bullseye a few years back. This…circle pattern, with the shot in the middle,” Clint gestured to the armor, “is like his signature. He’s as good a shot as me.” _If not better._

“Oh, great, and he doesn’t like to dumb it down with a bow and arrow, either!” Tony threw his arms up in exasperation. Clint chose to ignore the comment.

“But, you didn’t actually see him there,” Steve pressed.

“No. But it’s still a warning for me. I know.”

Tony huffed loudly as he got out of his chair to go and find his acetylene torch. “Great, so not only is he packing a heavier caliber than you, but he’s more psychotic as well. Anything else you’d care to tell us? Maybe you’re actually schizophrenic, and Hawkeye’s your good side and Bullseye’s your bad.”

Clint glared.

“Why do you think he’s here now?” Steve asked calmly, ignoring Tony’s cursing and the sound of falling equipment and the torch starting up.

“I dunno, because my face has been plastered over every 24 hour news network in existence for the past five months?”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Is there some _reason_ , I mean, that he would want to come after you.”

Clint clenched his jaw. “Just to make things hard, I guess. He was always really competitive.”

Steve gave him his best commanding super soldier gaze. “You’re sure?”

Clint ignored it. “Yeah.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just wanna say, yes, I realize Jeremy Renner and Colin Ferrell were both in SWAT, but I pretend the Daredevil movie doesn't exist, so it's a moot point, and this is in no way a crossover, or AU, or anything like that. Just me throwing people together in the Marvel universe!

_Columbia_

_10 Years Ago_

The Ghillie suit made a quiet whisper as Clint shifted slightly in the wet leaves. The view in his scope revealed the rest of his team in various positions around a shabby, run down complex, ready to move.

“Redtail, I got four headed your way.” Poindexter’s voice sounded over the comms.

“Roger that, Eagle. I can get the first two before they make me.” Clint said quietly back, eyeing the four men slowly hiking up the hill he was on, going to check the perimeter.

“I got the back. The rest of you are clear to move once the shots go off.”

“Roger, Eagle.”

“On my mark,” Clint said, aiming at the head of his first target. “Mark.”

His own target dropped at the same time as the man behind him, and it only took Clint 1.7 seconds to aim at the third man’s confused face before he dropped him as well.

But the fourth guy, Poindexter’s second target, fell to the ground clutching his knee and crying out in pain. Clint grimaced. He knew Poindexter could make that headshot, he had done it on the first guy. Another shot sounded and the man screamed in pain again as a bullet tore through his elbow.

“Eagle, what are you doing?” Clint hissed. “Finish him!”

Another gunshot was his answer, this time going through the shoulder of the man who was writhing in pain on the ground and bleeding to death. He heard a low chuckle on the other end of the comms, and Clint aimed his own gun and fired into the man’s head.

“Aww, don’t be such a sour puss, Redtail!” Clint gritted his teeth as he picked up his rifle and began to move to his next position.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

 

_Present Day_

When Bullseye didn’t show himself for the next two days, he fell back down SHIELD’s and the Avengers’ to-do lists.  Clint thought it was a bad idea, to ignore him, but he really wasn’t in a position to make demands.

“Look, you didn’t even _see_ him,” Tony said, almost finished repairing the bullet holes in his armor. Clint had come down to the lab to bother him, as usual, and to his surprise (as much as Tony’s), had ended up voicing his fears.

“I know it was him. He’s out there, waiting-”

“Waiting for _what_ , exactly?” Tony said tiredly. Clint was pretty sure he hadn’t slept in the two days it was taking to repair his armor, judging from the multiple half-filled coffee mugs scattered around the lab. “Maybe he was just passing through town, saw you getting explosives tossed at you, and decided to take a few pot-shots while he was free. Gah! Goddamn it,” Tony mumbled, putting his bleeding finger in his mouth. “Wook wha ju may me do!”

Clint looked back at him with a disinterested expression. “Are you sure that’s not lack of sleep?”

Tony pulled the finger out of his mouth. “I can sleep when I’m dead. Who let you in here anyway?”

“You did. I guess you wanted someone to talk to besides your robots.” Clint smirked.

“Jarvis! Did you hear that, he’s insulting you!”

_“Noted, Sir. Shall I have Agent Barton’s name placed on to-be-killed-quietly-in-his-sleep-by-androids list?”_

Tony barked out a laugh and Clint’s eyes widened. “Is that like…really a thing?”

“No, but it _should_ be! Jarvis, get on that.”

_“Sir, if I may, I think you have enough projects to keep you busy for now.”_

“Spoil sport,” Tony mumbled.

Clint decided then was a good time to leave, having had enough of Tony and his robot’s creepy back and forth humor.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

 

_Columbia_

_10 Years Ago_

The mission had been a success.  The main infiltration team had gotten in, apprehended the cartel’s leader, and Clint and Poindexter had covered them on the way out, resulting in no casualties to their side.

The two snipers sat side by side in the back of one of the team’s hummers as they drove through the jungle. Poindexter had a relaxed, almost smug look on his face.

“What was that?” Clint finally asked, not able to keep his feelings to himself anymore.

“What was what?” The other sniper raised an eyebrow.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. You don’t _play_ with the targets, you down them and move on.”

“I did down him though.”

“This isn’t some game. If someone had heard him and been tipped off-”

“Relax, Barton,” Poindexter closed his eyes and leaned back into his seat. “I knew the distance. He was out of range. I knew what I was doing.”

Clint snorted in disgust. “You were perfectly capable of making that head shot. So in the future, just do it.”

Poindexter opened one eye to peer at him seriously. He silently watched Clint fume for a moment before closing his eye again. “Sure thing.”

 

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

As it turned out, sometime when he wasn’t looking SHIELD had decided they’d just let the Avengers deal with _anyone_ in a stupid costume.

Which is why Clint found himself perched on top of scaffolding four stories up in Times Square staring down at a guy in a rhino suit in the street and trying not to laugh. Steve, Natasha, Thor and Iron Man stood in front of him, while Bruce remained in a car nearby. Even though the streets and some of the surrounding buildings had mostly been evacuated, SHIELD preferred not to have Hulk destroy Times Square if they didn’t need him.

“Seriously, Hill? You needed _us_ for this?”

“It’s now policy to alert you guys to any metahuman threats,” she grumbled. She didn’t sound too thrilled. Clint couldn’t really blame her.

“I _wanted_ to come!” Tony said, sounding excited as he rose into the air slightly. “Look at this guy! He already destroyed the McDonald’s by _running_ at it! I had to see. I just had to.”

“YOU THINK I’M A JOKE?!” The rhino guy roared. He began charging at them, and Clint had to admit, he was a lot faster than he had guessed, and it was a little more intimidating than he would have believed.

He heard Steve give a loud sigh as he slung his shield, which bounced harmlessly off Rhino. “One of these days, Tony-”

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence as he and Natasha dove to the side, the Rhino running past them and crashed into Planet Hollywood in a shower of glass and sparks.

“Honestly, I think we should be thanking this guy,” Tony sounded like he was about to giggle.

“Manhattan _really_ doesn’t need more property damage, Stark.” Steve was almost growling, and his words sent a small pang of guilt through Clint, at least.

Apparently they had the same sobering effect on Tony, because a moment later, he said, “Right, so what’s the plan?”

“Hawkeye, can you bring him down?” Clint aimed his bow as Rhino pulled himself out of the wreckage of the Planet Hollywood lobby.  He released, but the arrow bounced harmlessly off the guy’s suit. He didn’t even seem to notice. Clint pressed a button on the riser, hearing the small _whirring_ noise of his quiver changing arrowheads behind him.

“You guys might want to close your eyes.”

He loaded and fired again, this time the arrow bouncing off the Rhino’s chest. He looked down in confusion for a minute, and Clint looked away as a huge, bright light lit up the street. He heard Rhino scream in pain.

“Okay, you’re good,” Clint said smugly.

There was the sound of metal singing through the air, and Thor barreled into the Rhino, swinging _Mjolnir_ into the other man’s jaw. There was a sickening crack, before Rhino landed on his back in the street moaning and didn’t get up.

“I believe this contest is over,” Thor murmured.

Clint shouldered his bow and swung to the outside of the scaffolding. He began to climb down, when a gunshot cracked through the air. Confused, he looked over his shoulder.

His blood froze as he saw Natasha fall to the street.

“No, NO!” He scrambled down the rest of the way, letting go with still about twelve feet left and rolling, when he heard another gun shot and saw Natasha jerk on the ground, Steve and Tony already running towards her.

_Not Natasha…please…_

Clint’s breath caught in his throat and he struggled to breathe as he tore through the street, sliding to his knees at her side, almost knocking over Steve as he did. His shoulders sagged in relief when she blinked through half-lidded eyes up at him, blood pouring down her face.

“They’re grazes,” Steve said quietly, and Clint distantly noted Tony calling for a medical team as he stood above them, missiles armed. Clint brushed her hair out of the way, noting first the bullet graze on her left temple, then in the same place on her right temple.

She squeezed her eyes shut in pain and confusion and gave off a mumbled “Clint…what…”

He leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers as he put his hands over her bleeding injuries. “You’re gonna be okay, Nat. You’re gonna be fine.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

Teams had scoured the nearby buildings, but didn’t find any sign of the other sniper. But Clint already knew. Natasha sat on the gurney in the ambulance, shooting tired glares at the EMTs trying to stitch her up. Clint leaned against the back, arms folded over his chest. His own eyes searched the brightly lit buildings around them, looking for signs but already knowing he wasn’t going to find anything. Steve, Thor and Tony had gathered around the back as well.

“Bullseye?” Steve asked.

Clint’s hands clenched around his biceps. “He’s playing games,” he growled. “He’s playing goddamn games!”

“How do you know he didn’t miss?” Thor asked.

“Look at her!” Clint snarled, indicating Natasha, who just gave them her own unreadable expression. “He. Doesn’t. Miss. He’s playing a…fucking-” Clint kicked the rear bumper of the ambulance, “GAME!”

“Clint. I’m fine,” Natasha said quietly from inside the ambulance as she tried to bat away the EMT with the sutures.

“What do you think his angle is? Why not just kill her?” Steve winced at his own words, at the casualness with which they came out. He hadn’t meant to sound insensitive, especially where a teammate was concerned, but he was trying to understand the situation better and it was apparent Hawkeye may have been too emotional to get much out of him.

Clint’s eyes bore into him angrily, before they softened. He all but collapsed onto the ambulance bumper, sinking his head into his palm. “I don’t know,” he mumbled.

“Until we figure it out, I want this guy back on top of the priority list,” Tony growled. “I’m not having this guy take out you, or anyone else. He’s obviously a psychopath, and he obviously has the capability to kill. No one leaves the tower without a buddy.”

“What is…a buddy?” Thor asked hesitantly.

Clint snorted, some of the humor returning to him. “Really? You’re implementing the buddy system? Are you going to even follow your own rules?”

“I always follow the rules where my teammates’ safeties are concerned.” Tony had the decency to look affronted.

“You set fire to Thor’s cape last month,” Steve pointed out.

“THAT WAS A TEST.”

Thor growled. “You asked me how I didn’t catch fire when I was in explosions and then you set fire to my cloak, while it was still attached to my person, before I could answer.”

“I needed to know!”

As Thor and Iron Man continued to argue, Steve stepped into the ambulance to help Natasha out of it, her wounds treated. She was still a little unsteady on her feet, so together with Clint they walked over to the nearest SHIELD car. As they helped Natasha inside, Steve gave a look back towards Thor and Tony, the latter of whom was waving his arms in the air. “Should we, uh…”

“They can fly back,” Clint growled, shutting the door.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just want to say I didn't specifically write this as a Blackhawk fic; it's up to the reader whether they want to interpret it that way or not. Thanks for reading!

_Serbia_

_8 Years Ago_

“Clint, good buddy!”

Clint sighed into the receiver of his disgustingly old hotel phone. “How’d you find me, Ben?” Clint hadn’t seen Poindexter since Columbia. Last he’d heard, he had been dishonorably discharged. Something about going ape shit on his own Black Ops team. Clint hadn’t really looked into it.

Clint thought he did a decent job of covering his tracks after he left the service. Apparently not.

“Does it matter? Look, I have a job you may be interested in.”

“I don’t want it.”

“Don’t you even want to hear what it is?”

Clint scrubbed a hand over his face. He needed the money. He had basically been living here for a month with very little cash, and no contracts. “Fine, what is it?”

“Just a little snatch ‘n grab here in town. I just need you to lay down some cover fire. Simple.”

“Why can’t you do it?

“I’m running the show. I’m the only one with the passcodes, so I have to be down there.”

Clint gave a small chuckle. “Not the trusting type, I see.”

“Clint. You should never trust your co-workers explicitly.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

_Present Day_

“Clint. I am not some doll that’s going to break at any moment. You are going to let me out of this room, or I might just snap your neck out of spite.”

Natasha was glaring at him as he stood in the doorway, the gauze on her head tinged slightly pink. He didn’t doubt her words, and with a guilty jolt of realization, he stepped aside. She brushed angrily past him.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“To get a _soda!_ ” she all but snapped at him. “I don’t need your protection. It’s insulting. Especially in a place where we _live._ ”

“Nat, I’m sorry…I just-”

“Spare me,” she huffed, practically ripping the refrigerator door off its hinges as she rooted around inside for a drink.

“Don’t break that!” Tony called distantly from the living room. She ignored him.

“He’s not getting in here. As much as I loathe to admit it, Stark’s security is the best.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment!”

“So quit worrying. It’s not your job to protect my ass, it’s mine. NOT A WORD, STARK.”

She glared over at the couch, and Tony shut his mouth obediently.

She turned to look back at Clint who had a guilty look on his face. “I’m not going to go into hiding because some crazy person decides he wants to take pot shots at us all to get to you.”

“We used to do just that,” Clint said. “Lay low.”

She slumped into a bar seat, popping the soda top. “Things are different now.”

“SHIELD hasn’t cleared you yet.”

She looked at him blankly while taking a sip of soda. “And?”

Clint sighed. “Look, just…can you stay here…with everyone…until I figure this out?”

“Why, because I don’t have a suit of armor, or am unkillable, or a demi-god?”

“Yes!”

“Neither are you, Clint!” She jabbed him in the chest. “So don’t go telling me I can’t look after myself! I think I’ve _more_ than proven I can hold my own with these ass-clowns, and quite frankly, you’re the _last_ person I expected to be having this conversation with.” She stood up abruptly, her chair sliding backwards, and stormed back to her room.

“Trouble in paradise?” Tony said sweetly as he turned the newspaper page.

There was the sound of tearing paper before a sharp _thunk_. Tony blinked at the new hole in his newspaper before he realized there was a knife on the other side of it, now quivering in the coffee table.

“That is _mahogany!”_ he shouted.

“No it’s not.” Clint mumbled. Tony leaned forward, inspecting the table closely.

“Hm. You’re right. Good eye, Hawkeye.” Clint came over and slumped onto the chair across from him. Tony studied him closely, before folding  his newspaper and slapping it on the table. “She’s right, though. You can’t keep us locked up in here, waiting for Crazy Eye to make his move. It’s very counter-productive.”

“Please,” Clint huffed. “If your old psychotic pals came back trying to kill your teammates, you’d lock us up too.”

“Probably. But my old psychotic pals are all dead. Because they were _psychotic_.”

“Well, that’s where I went wrong, I guess.”

Tony shrugged. “To be fair, I’ll always have enemies. As Iron Man, as Tony Stark, as Nick Fury’s consultant…that’s something you can’t escape now. The difference between you and me though is, once one rears his ugly head, I don’t wait around for him to strike.”

Clint glared at him. “I’m not wait-”

“You’re the sniper-type. All you _do_ is wait for stuff to happen. It’s ingrained in you. I get it. You’re a very patient fellow. But you’re an Avenger now. Maybe it’s time to go looking for trouble.”

Clint grimaced. He hated to admit Stark was right, but it was time to get off his ass and find Poindexter. “Can you help me?” Clint reluctantly asked.

Tony gave him the cockiest grin he’d ever seen. “I already have. About 30 minutes ago, local authorities found a body in a bar in Queens that’s been giving off strange radiation readings. I’m sure SHIELD will be calling Dr. Banner for some consultant work any time now. I suggest you get there first, in case your friend decides to set up his own nest while poor, Dr. Banner is working. You know how stress isn’t good for his health.”

Clint was sprinting for his equipment before Tony finished speaking.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

_Serbia_

_8 Years Ago_

Clint and Poindexter stood on the rooftop overlooking the building they were about to break into. Clint Spotted at least five undercovers on the street around the place, but he assumed there were more.

“Damn it, you didn’t tell me your target was a _CIA_ office!”

“Suddenly feeling a twinge of Patriotism, Barton? I didn’t peg you for the type.”

Clint clenched his fists. “No, it’s just…it’s gonna be hard.”

Poindexter smiled smugly. “Since when have _you_ backed out because a job was too _hard_?”

“What’s in there?”

“A wad of cash for stranded agents. Files that could be sold for a lot of money. The usual stuff. Why do you care? You’ll get your cut.”

Clint didn’t like this. Stealing money was one thing, but secrets…identities of undercover agents, op information, putting people trying to do their jobs in danger…

“No. Find someone else. You should have told-”

Suddenly, there was a knife at his throat. He looked into Poindexter’s wild eyes, and knew instantly he had made a mistake. “Ben,” he said quietly.

“You’re going to do it, Barton. Right now. And stop calling me Ben. It’s Bullseye, now.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

Steve had gone with Bruce to the bar in Queens, not trusting Bullseye not to show himself. Steve had been reluctant to bring Clint, knowing the sniper had it out for him, but Clint had argued he could stay out of sight, and he wanted to get eyes on Bullseye first.

Clint had found the best sniper perch immediately, on a four story building across the road from the bar.

He placed himself in the building adjacent to the bar, so he had the whole building in view.

Clint waited, deceptively still and remarkably hidden, as Bruce and Steve and various SHIELD agents toiled around inside. His eyes scanned the other building for an hour, and he saw nothing.

“Still no sign of him?” Steve’s voice came over the comms.

“No.” Clint said angrily.

“It’s possible he didn’t know about this,” Steve said.

“Stark did.”

“Well…Stark doesn’t have anything better to do with his time than hack into SHIELD frequencies,” Steve mumbled bitterly. “So we’re clear?”

Clint scanned the building and the surrounding street a final time.

“Yeah,” he grumbled.

He saw Steve and Bruce and a few SHIELD agents below and to the right of him, but he kept scanning the rooftops.

Maybe Bullseye hadn’t heard about the body after all. Clint was about to heave a sigh of relief when the smallest flash down the street to the right caught his eye. He whipped his head around, searching for the source. “Wait-”

A gunshot cracked through the air and Clint heard the sickening sound of something impacting flesh and bone below him. He looked in time to see Bruce fall forward, Steve behind him splattered in blood with a shocked look on his face.

Clint, forcing his head away from the gruesome scene below him, looked through his scope in time to see the muzzle of a long-range rifle disappear into the window of a house from down the street.

How could he have been so wrong?

Steve’s frantic yelling at the SHIELD agents to get away pulled him back to reality, and he looked below him to see Bruce’s body turning green and…growing.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered.

“Get away! Run!” Steve was trying to usher paralyzed SHIELD agents into action. Clint saw through the gory mess that was the back of Bruce’s head the bullet pop out as the flesh turned green and begin to knit together as hair grew over it.

There was a grunt from Bruce and his fingers twitched.

“Cap-”

“Damn it, Clint, I KNOW.”

Bruce’s shirt fell to the ground in tatters, and the Hulk struggled to his feet, grunting and clutching the back of his head in pain.

“Steve! Get out of there! Right now!”

“Get the agents to safety!”

Clint could have cursed at the damn, altruistic Captain America. Hulk heard him speak, and turned furious, pain-filled eyes onto the captain and roared wildly.

“Bruce! Hulk! It’s me, it’s Steve!”

“That’s not gonna work Cap, when you’re the first thing he sees after taking a bullet to the head!” Clint swung down from the rooftop onto a drainpipe, sliding down a few feet before he leapt off and ran into the street, urging the SHIELD agents to move.

Unfortunately, Clint was right as the Hulk roared again and barreled towards Captain America spitting and roaring. Steve swung his shield into his jaw, and in answer Hulk picked him up and hurled him into the bar. He heard Steve groan in pain on the other end of the comm.

“Hang on, Steve, I’m coming.”

“No, Clint…”

Clint ignored him, sprinting around behind the Hulk. Luckily, the green giant was so distracted by the man he had just tossed through a building he didn’t see the archer. Clint made sure the wound on his head was fully healed before he pressed a button on his riser, the one reserved for the heaviest sedatives science could produce in an adamantium arrowhead. He loaded it.

“Sorry, Bruce,” he mumbled, before he released.

Hulk heard the _twang_ of his bowstring and turned, confused, before the arrow embedded itself into his neck. He gave another roar of rage and rumbled along on all fours towards Clint for a few steps before his eyes rolled back into his head and he collapsed into the street.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is taking so long, irl stuff ya know. ;)

_Serbia_

_8 Years ago_

This was a mistake. Poindexter, _no, Bullseye_ , he corrected himself, had taken two other guys into the building with fake badges as Clint watched from the rooftop. A van idled in a side street nearby with the third random Russian defector Bullseye had picked up.

But something inside had gone wrong. All at once, Clint saw the five undercovers he had picked out before stand up and run to the building, some civilians pausing to see what the hubbub was about.

Their driver noticed too, and began to inch the van towards the building.

Clint knew they wouldn’t make it out. This was a terrible plan, and the building was too covered. It was probably a rush job, done by a desperate man.

He could have left, hidden his tracks again. It was almost apparent Bullseye would be caught, and in that time he’d have enough time to pack and flee, go under the radar again.

He almost did leave, but when Bullseye tore out of the building by himself with a bag over his shoulder, shooting everyone in sight, Clint didn’t.

The man was gunning down civilians and agents alike as he sprinted towards the van, and Clint decided right then and there, he was done.

He looked through the scope of his rifle, aiming carefully, compensating for speed and distance, before he fired a bullet through Bullseye’s leg.

His scream of pain was covered up by the door on the rooftop banging open behind him and several shouts of “Freeze!” He turned around slowly and raised his hands in the air.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

_Present Day_

“You let him get shot in the _head?!”_ Tony shouted.

They were all on the helicarrier, Bruce sleeping off his transformation and sedatives, Steve being treated for a broken arm that would heal in a few days.

Clint didn’t flinch as Tony got up into his face, eyes wide and expression totally livid. “The _head_ , Clint! If he was anyone else, he’d be dead! I gave you that info so you could prevent this kind of thing from happening!”

Clint looked down at the floor. A year ago this might not have bothered him so much. But things had changed. _He_ had changed.

And he knew Tony was absolutely right.

So he said nothing.

“I know you’re good,” Tony hissed. “So why weren’t you good enough to stop this?”

Natasha’s hand was immediately on Tony’s neck and he froze. “That’s enough,” she hissed.

Tony stumbled forward, fear, followed immediately by anger clear in his eyes. Clint got between him and Natasha. “Stop, Nat.” He was disappointed, but not surprised she had taken advantage of one of Tony’s fears. It was unfair.

She glared at Tony, who glared back. “I’m not going to let that slide. It’s not-”

“Enough!” Thor’s voice bellowed. “I think we are all on edge because of what happened. It is not Barton’s fault, simply because he and Bullseye share the same occupation. Both Rogers and Banner will be fine. And I am _tired_ of this petty squabbling.” He turned to glare at Tony first, who stood ramrod straight, defiance clearly painted on his face. “Can you not see he is torturing himself over what happened without your help?”

“Thor,” Clint said quietly.

“And you!” he turned his furious gaze on Natasha.  “How dare you exploit a teammate. It is immoral.” She looked away from him, arms crossed over his chest.

“I don’t need protecting,” Tony spat, shouldering past Thor as he stomped down the hallway.

“You owe Barton an apology!” Thor shouted after him.

“I don’t need a nanny,” Clint said quietly, moving in the other direction. Thor moved to follow, but Natasha’s hand on his arm held him back. She shook her head once, then walked after Clint.

Thor sighed, turning around to see Steve standing in the doorway with his arm in a sling, who gave him a grim smile.

“And now you know what _my_ life is like.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

_Serbia_

_8 Years Ago_

Clint sat in a room, handcuffed to the chair and watching people walk by a window, staring in and occasionally giving him hateful looks. For the most part, he ignored them.

He had been sitting here for nearly an hour after they brought him in. It was the same building they had just tried to rob. He supposed since he hadn’t actually _killed_ any CIA agents, they were taking their time with him.

Finally, a man walked past the window, and Clint didn’t give him much attention. But the doorknob turned, and the man entered.

He was a little short, had thinning hair, and a suit that was just a smidgeon too large for him. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. Barton,” he told him plainly, tossing a manila folder on the table in front of Clint before he sat down in a chair opposite from him.

“Didn’t take you long to figure out who I was,” Clint said, partly amused, partly smug. He had gotten out of the handcuffs about five minutes after they put him in here, and he leaned forward, putting them on the table in front of them.

Clint had expected the man to be scared, to react in some way betraying his fear, or at least unease.

But the man in front of him just spared the handcuffs one glance before meeting Barton’s eyes. “You’re a good shot,” he said calmly.

Clint blinked. “Yeah.”

“Besides seeing it myself today, I saw it in your files. So I want to know, why did you shoot your team leader today and let yourself get caught?”

Clint shrugged. “He wasn’t paying me enough.”

The other man gave him a small, humorless smirk. “Care to try again?”

“Not really, no.”

“Well, I can certainly sympathize with your situation. Your partner, Poindexter, is legitimately insane. He has a message for you, by the way. He says you picked a bad time to grow a conscience.” Clint set his jaw and looked at the wall, knowing the other man was studying him.

“I don’t have a conscious,” Clint finally said. “I just didn’t think this job was worthwhile, is all.” Clint turned his head to look at the other man. “You can ship me off to Gitmo now, or wherever your Jail of the Month is.”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Barton. I’d like to offer you a job.”

Clint squinted one eye at him in general confusion. This had certainly been the last thing he expected. “What? Who _are_ you?”

“I’m from the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division. And you can call me Agent Coulson.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

_Present Day_

“I don’t want to talk about it, Nat.” Clint opened his helicarrier locker angrily taking out his bow case.

“I wasn’t going to ask you too,” she leaned against the doorway. “I was going to come with you.”

“I have to find him myself,” Clint looked at her angrily.

“Why?”

“Because…I just have to.” He gave an exasperated sigh.

“Except you don’t. You just think I’m going to get hurt.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’ve been sticking to the shadows far longer than you have.”

“Don’t be so sure,” he mumbled. He knew she was right though. But he didn’t want her out there with him. He didn’t want _anyone_ out there with him until he took care of Bullseye. He felt like the man was his responsibility.

 It bothered him a little when his teammates didn’t take his own skills seriously, and sure, he wasn’t arguing that he could go toe to toe with the Abombination and do as well as Thor or Iron Man or Hulk.

No, what really bothered him was that they weren’t taking Bullseye seriously. A man with the same skillsets as Clint, and far more psychotic.  Clint knew him well enough that he could handle anything that the other man threw at him personally, but his teammates…

Well, he couldn’t protect them from themselves. But he was going to try.

“Nat.” He gave another frustrated huff through his nose. “Please. Just leave this to me. He wants to hurt you all to get to me, because he’s not sure if he can do it on equal footing. So…it’s what I have to do.”

She considered him a moment, before her eyes glanced away, and she held a finger to her ear.

He hadn’t put in an earpiece when he came aboard, but Natasha always monitored SHIELD’s frequencies. “What is it?”

“Thor and Iron Man are responding to an attack in Brooklyn.”

His eyes widened. “What? Stop them!”

“Widow to Iron Man.” She paused, then looked at him again. “They switched frequencies.” Clint gave a roar of frustration before sprinting to the hangar.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

Thor was almost grateful for the distraction that was the huge robot in front of them. Tony had been remarkably quiet since the helicarrier, and he feared that Stark had felt shame and anger with the recent developments. He still wouldn’t claim to intimately know the man, but he knew enough about them all as a group to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

He was concerned about Barton as well. Clearly the archer blamed himself for recent events. Thor could understand; he had felt the same with Loki. However, this man was not a brother to Barton. He was not even a friend. Thor knew Barton preferred dealing with things by himself, but he had hoped being an Avenger had changed that.

Thor was abruptly brought out of his musing by a huge robotic arm sweeping him off his feet and propelling him into a nearby alleyway. He lay dazed for a moment, before pulling himself to his feet. Valhala, that had hurt more than he cared to admit. He could still hear Iron Man firing his weapons at the enemy along with the screeching and crunching of metal breaking. At least Iron Man was winning, he hoped.

A figure out of the corner of his eye caught his attention and he turned, seeing a shadowy profile in the dark. He could just make out the outline of a quiver and a bow.

He narrowed his eyes. “Barton? What are you doing here?” He saw the other man move slightly before he felt a sharp impact between his ribs. Confused, he looked down only to see the silver hilt of a throwing knife gleaming sharply. “What-”

Three more impacts in rapid succession had him sinking to his knees. Thor threw his hammer in a desperate attempt to defend himself, but he missed as the figure dove and rolled to one side. His vision was beginning to go blurry, and he blinked up at the figure in confusion. Now that the man was closer, he could see it definitely was not Clint Barton.

He growled, swinging, but the figure stepped back, letting Thor’s momentum carry him to the ground. He grunted as he landed on the hilts already sticking out of his chest. The tips of his fingers were growing numb, and he was ashamed to realize this mortal had tricked him and poisoned him. “C-coward…” He bit out, rolling weakly onto his back, feeling his eyes beginning to dip shut. He struggled to keep them open.

There was a mirthless chuckle above him. “It’s too bad Barton was the only one of you that takes me seriously. You all might not be able to appreciate a sniper’s full capabilities, but he certainly does.”

Thor tried to speak, but his tongue was too numb to form words. The man leaned down and patted his cheek. “He could kill you all, you know. But he’s chosen a softer career path. I won’t be nearly as nice.” Thor tried to reach out for Mjolnir, but he found his eyes drifting shut and he knew no more.

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

Tony was still seething. Angry at Clint for not being able to do his _one_ job, angry at himself for letting Natasha sneak up on him. He was still very sensitive about anyone near his body uninvited, and he hated how Natasha could take advantage of that. He hated that she would.

Spies.

Tony was getting a little concerned Thor hadn’t come back yet from the hit he took. Usually he loved a good brawl. As it was, it only took a few well-aimed repulsor blasts to knock out the thing’s operating hardware before it went down in a tangle of metal limbs and destroyed asphalt.

He made sure it was down for good (seemed to be remote controlled so he didn’t have to make any arrests at the moment) before taking to the sky to see where Thor had landed.

“Thooooor,” he called out, hovering about 40 feet in the air, scanning for any signs on rooftops of his teammate. The Asgardian had neglected to take an earpiece before he left, so they were all vocal communication today. Something Tony wasn’t particularly enjoying. “I beat the robot, you can come out of hiding now!”

His HUD highlighted a figure on a fire escape and Tony saw the bow being raised in his hands. Christ, Clint had come anyway? He mentally rolled his eyes before the HUD magnified of its own accord and Tony had just enough time to realize it wasn’t Barton at all before there was an arrow sticking out of his chest plate. He felt a pressure in his ears as his HUD flicked off alarmingly, and he was falling.


	5. Chapter 5

Clint arrived just in time to see Iron Man plummet from the sky.

He shouted Tony’s name, wrenching the controls to the side and beginning to regret not bringing Natasha as his copilot. He landed the quinjet in the middle of the street, wincing as the left wing clipped a parked car. He opened the back door, grabbing his bow as he ran out and over to the small crater in the pavement. He dodged the people in the street, most knowing by now that when the Avengers were around, you ran. A few had crowded around Iron Man’s prone-form and were staring down in shock.

“Get back!” Clint snarled as he leapt into the ditch. Most people moved away, catching sight of his bow, but one kid lingered on the edge.

“Is Iron Man okay?” he asked quietly.

“Kid, it’s dangerous here!” he snapped. His fingers hovered over the arc reactor as he heard the sounds of light footsteps fading away. The reactor flickered alarmingly, but thankfully remained lit. Clint angrily ripped the arrow sticking out of the chest plate, tossing it aside. He found the manual releases on the helmet, pulling it off Stark’s head.

The man’s eyes were closed, and Clint could see a tinge of red under his hair. He leaned in, listening and feeling for breath, and gave a sigh of relief when almost immediately he felt one. He brushed the hair back, inhaling sharply when he noticed the large gash on Tony’s scalp, bleeding sluggishly. Clint lightly slapped Tony’s face, looking around wildly for Thor. It made him nervous the Asgardian still hadn’t shown up.

He picked up the arrow he had thrown aside a moment ago, inspecting it closely. He cursed, tossing the dead EMP aside. Luckily, Tony was a genius, and it at least seemed the reactor was made to come back online quickly. But Clint couldn’t do anything about a concussion. Not here.

And he knew Bullseye was still lurking.

He slapped Tony’s face again, harder. “Wake up!”

The other man moaned quietly and rolled his head slightly. There was no way he could move Tony in his full armor to safety by himself. “Stark, get up, if you don’t I’ll crash your Ducati!”

Tony’s face scrunched up in pain, but he kept his eyes shut. “Wha?” he mumbled.

“I said, get up!” Clint shouted, pulling his arm up.

“Huh?”

“Shit,” the archer bit out. He tried to get Stark into a sitting position. The other man’s eyes cracked open but immediately jammed them shut again, rolling away from Clint. The archer saw Tony’s back convulse before the billionaire was vomiting up everything he had eaten that day.

Clint didn’t even wait for him to finish before he was violently pulling him up and away from the crater, out of sight. Stark stumbled along after him, moaning. Clint pulled him into the doorway of a used video store, where he collapsed, dropping his head into his hand. Clint had to find Thor.

He grabbed Tony’s jaw, forcing the billionaire to look at him. Tony’s eyes weren’t focusing, and his pupils were huge. “Stay here!” Clint told him fiercely. Tony just looked confused. Clint stood up, eyes searching the store, before he saw a guy staring wide-eyed at them from behind the counter. “You! Don’t let him go anywhere, understand?”

The man nodded vigorously, and Clint sprinted out the door, sticking to alleys and side streets and staying under awnings. It was a wonder Bullseye hadn’t tried to kill him yet, but he knew the other man probably wasn’t done with his “game”.

Clint had just ducked into an alley and was about to move on, when he caught sight of a boot sticking out from behind a dumpster. Clint ran over, finding an unconscious Thor, throwing knives sticking out of his chest between seams in his armor. He pulled them out, grimacing. “Goddamn it, why didn’t you guys listen!” he growled to himself. He looked around for Thor’s hammer, and saw it resting on the ground about fifteen feet away. There was a walkie-talkie next to it. He had no doubt who it was from.

He grabbed it, not hesitating to speak into it. “What did you do to him?” he demanded.

There was no reply for a moment, but then a hiss of static and a voice on the other end. “Direct, aren’t you? Nothing that won’t wear off in a few hours, I promise. Provided he gets the antidote, anyway.”  Clint’s fingers turned white as he began unconsciously crushing the device in his hand. “At least, for a normal person. I don’t know how that guy’s physiology works. But why take that chance?”

“What do you want?” gritted out Barton. He attached the walkie talkie to his vest, unshouldering his bow.

“Will it sound cliché if I say ‘revenge’? Don’t answer that. Although ‘Revenge on an Avenger’ has a nice ring to it.” Clint backed up against the wall of a building, scanning the rooftops and windows of the other buildings across the street, looking for any signs of the other sniper. “I could have killed any of them, you know. I still can. Actually, I thought I’d killed that nerdy guy, but I guess he’s harder to get rid of than people think.”

“You have no idea,” Clint said, trying to buy time. He began climbing a nearby fire escape. He had to get up high.

“In any case, I wanted to have a little fun before I killed you myself. To see your teammates understand what you could have been. In fact, you could say, I’m trying to help you.”

Clint pulled himself up over the edge of the rooftop, immediately ducking for cover behind a water tower before he peeked out, scanning again. “I don’t need your help, thanks.” He looked into the street below. Most of the people had cleared out, and apparently the local cops had been called, but weren’t getting too close. Clint could hear sirens down the street, but didn’t see evidence of cars. He knew they more or less had a standing order to let the Avengers duke it out with whatever threat there was until there was an all clear. Clint noted the video store he had left Tony in, and could still see a shiny, red boot sticking out from under the awning. At least he hadn’t moved.

But then Clint noticed the concerned kid from earlier running across the street to the video store.

Clint pulled an arrow out of his quiver and loaded it a split second before Bullseye’s playful tone turned deadly. “ _You_ might not need my help, but that kid might need _yours_.”

Clint caught a flash of movement on a nearby rooftop, and saw Bullseye raise his own bow and fire. Faster than he could consciously think about it, Clint was mentally calculating speed, angle, trajectory and he loosed his own arrow. The projectiles met in mid-air, clattering harmlessly into the street nearby. The boy froze, looking up.

“Eh, I never liked bows much. Don’t understand why you do.” Clint re-aimed his arrow at the spot where he had seen Bullseye a moment before, but now only saw his bow sitting on the ledge.

“Show your pretty face and I’ll tell you,” Clint mocked.

“Nuh-uh!” Bullseye sing-songed back. “You’re a killer, Barton. You never stopped being a killer. You can pretend otherwise. But I’m not putting myself in the line of fire _just_ yet.”

Clint let the words wash over him. They didn’t bother him, not anymore.  When he first joined the Avengers and they had started to be a “team”, he had vehemently denied calling himself anything remotely close to the words “super” and “hero”. But as time passed, he realized none of them were innocent. Not one. So he took the word “killer” and added it to his armor.

“You’re right,” he said back, continuing to scan the alleyways, searching for signs of Bullseye. He saw the boy had finished his run to Iron Man and was gently patting him on the leg. Damn kid. “I _will_ kill you. No one fucks with my team.”

A bitter laugh sounded over the other end of the comm. Clint, getting a sinking feeling, put the arrow back in his quiver and proceeded to hop and swing back down the fire escape. Thor was still unconscious in the alley where he’d left him, and Clint felt a pang of guilt for leaving the Asgardian so prone. He had to find Bullseye.

“You’ve grown so soft, Barton. You used to not be bothered by acceptable losses.”

“I hadn’t met acceptable losses that could single-handedly save the planet,” Clint said back. Movement caught his eye again, and he saw Iron Man’s red boot disappear inside. Clint couldn’t see the kid. He raced across the street to the video store, bow at full draw as he slowed down to cross the threshold.

He was met with the sight of Bullseye grinning maniacally, holding a gun against Stark’s head, who just looked groggily back at Clint, not understanding what was happening. The boy was clinging tightly to Iron Man’s arm, tears streaming down his face. The store clerk was nowhere in sight.

“You don’t have to do this,” Clint said quietly.

“You know I can pull the trigger faster than your arrow will stop me. So, you have to choose. Stark,” Bullseye turned his wrist, aiming the gun at the kid, who turned his face into the red armor. “Or his fanboy.”

“Let them go. I’m the one you want,” Clint tried.

“Not a choice!” Bullseye spat. The boy’s breathing hitched, but he continued to cry silently into Iron Man’s chest. Clint kept his eyes focused on Bullseye’s, but he briefly caught a glimpse of Tony’s neck straighten and turn his head ever-so-slightly to glance down at the kid clinging to him.

“Take it easy,” Clint murmured. He was speaking to Bullseye, but his words were for Tony as well. He could see the man had gained _some_ sort of alertness, and Clint didn’t want him to freak out.

“I will kill them!” Bullseye snarled.

Clint could feel the muscles in his back and arms begin to strain uncomfortably from holding the bow at full draw for so long. “Why did you come here, Bullseye? Why are you putting yourself in this position?” Clint could see the other man becoming increasingly psychotic. He hadn’t been forced to take hostages to preserve his own life, hadn’t been forced into this situation, he had willingly created it. It made him infinitely more dangerous.

“To show you, you’re just like me! And for killers like us, _death,_ ” he turned the gun back on Tony. “Is the only escape.”

Clint sucked in a deep breath. “I’m not like you,” he said quietly, making eye contact with Tony. He saw the corner of the other man’s eyes tighten, in what he hoped was understanding.  “Not anymore. I have a team to protect.”

Tony took that as his cue, reaching up swiftly, grabbing Bullseye’s wrist and crushing it with his gauntlet. With his other hand, he pulled the boy down, covering him as the gun went off and the bullet pinged harmlessly off his armor instead of into his head. At the same time, Clint loosed his arrow, which slammed into Bullseye’s collar bone with a sickening crack.

Clint dropped his bow and leapt onto Bullseye, knocking him to the ground. Bullseye cried out in pain, but then began to laugh. “Should have killed me, Barton,” he growled.

Clint saw the gleam of metal heading towards the kid who was still looking on in shock, and the archer twisted. He felt hot fire pierce through his body armor and into his stomach, and he let out a pained breath of air. He cried out when Bullseye pulled the knife back out, ready to strike again, but there was a flash of red and gold, and suddenly Tony was in front of him, knife bouncing harmlessly off metal. Bullseye looked shocked for a moment before Tony growled, swinging his metal-covered arm as hard as he could into Bulleye’s head who gave a grunt and then stilled.

“Still early,” Tony mumbled before he collapsed to the floor again.

Clint winced as he covered the hole in his side with his hand, falling back against the store counter and turning his head to look at the kid who was still sitting on the floor with wide, terrified eyes. “Kid, you okay?”

The boy nodded wordlessly.

“Then…do me a favor,” Clint groaned. “And…call 911.”

**_AV~AV~AV~AV_ **

Fury was not pleased that Clint had flown a quinjet by himself without backup into what he knew was a hazardous situation without any backup. Clint stared up at him from the hospital bed on the helicarrier, not acknowledging anything he was saying. Of course, it may have been the drugs.

Clint didn’t really remember much of the trip back. He had been in and out until finally he awoke from minor surgery. He still felt an uncomfortable shift in his insides every time he moved, but for right now it wasn’t painful.

Thor had recovered quickly once they found the antidote on Bullseye’s person. He was sitting up in the bed to Clint’s left, looking decidedly out of place in a pair of dark blue scrubs. Tony was still unconscious on the bed on Clint’s right, still thoroughly out of it since he passed out in the video place. Steve had come down, broken arm and all. Once he had made sure his teammates were being tended to, Captain America had comforted the boy, praising him for being very brave. Clint had wanted to give him Iron Man’s helmet as a reward, but Steve insisted Iron Man would probably need it in the future so he made sure to get the boy’s name, so Tony could set up a college fund for him instead.

Now, Natasha sat on the edge of Clint’s bed, with Steve and Bruce sitting in chairs against the wall.

“What happened to Bullseye?” Clint slurred.

Fury narrowed his eye. “He is currently in an undisclosed location, undergoing psychoanalysis.”

“No analysis needed,” Bruce grumbled.

“The alternative is a public trial.”

“Yeah, I can see where that might be a little risqué.” Bruce rubbed his chin thoughtfully.

“I almost wished you had killed him, Barton,” Fury mumbled. “Would have saved me a hell of a lotta paperwork.” He turned to leave, giving Barton an appreciative pat on the shin as he did so.

Clint sunk back in the bed, determinedly staring at the ceiling. First Bruce, then Steve filed out, giving him warm smiles as they did so. Then Thor got up to leave, assuring Natasha that he was almost perfectly recovered, and that he was getting restless. “Feel better, Barton,” he said as he was leaving. “And thank you…for all that you did today.”

Natasha waited, now that it was just her, Clint, and an unconscious Stark in the room.

“He wanted me to kill him, you know. That’s why he did…everything he did,” he told Natasha quietly.

“You can’t always reward atrocity with death.”

He looked at her, and she met his gaze evenly for a long moment before he turned away. “No, I guess not.”

“What’s bothering you?”

He let out a quiet breath, smiling. “Your directness.”

“It’s how I get things done.” She gave him a small smile back.

He looked at her, serious for a moment. “If…if I ever…”

She shook her head. “Stop, Clint. You know that’s a promise we’ve made already.

“He was just…there needs to be a contingency plan. If any one of us goes rogue.”

“There is. It’s called The Avengers.” Clint turned his head to look sharply over at the bead where Stark was blinking blearily at him. “It’s kinda what we call ourselves…” he mumbled, trailing off and wincing painfully, before he seemed to pass out as quickly as he had joined in their conversation.

Natasha smiled at them both, rubbing Clint’s knee before she hopped off the bed. “Rest up,” she told him. “I’m sure you’ll need it.”

Clint lay back in his bed with a small smirk on his face. For the first time in a long time, he felt content.


End file.
